Monday, February 27, 2017

Release Blitz for The Miss Fortune Series: The Stiletto Scandal (Kindle Worlds Novella)

New +Amazon.com Kindle Worlds



Most people call their local law enforcement agencies when a dead body appears in their yard, but in Sinful, Louisiana? Folks turn to the Geritol Mafia.

Gators, local bad guys, and contract killers keep former CIA agent Fortune Redding on edge but with trustworthy sidekicks and an impossible deputy in her corner, what could go wrong?



The Miss Fortune Series: The Stiletto Scandal (Kindle Worlds Novella) by [Blake, Riley]


Unlikely Suspects…

When a former Sinful resident turns up dead in Fortune Redding’s backyard, Deputy Carter LeBlanc springs into action, but Fortune can’t help but wonder about his motives. Is he afraid a killer will strike again and she’ll become the next victim or is he trying to keep her away from the new man in town? 

Motivated Killers…

Now considered an assassin-in-hiding thanks to an unfortunate stiletto scandal, Fortune has a nice price on her head and unlikely hitmen are in the killing game. With a borrowed identity and new place to call home, Fortune soon discovers Sinful isn’t as it seems. Since her Louisiana arrival, the former agent has been involved in one murder investigation right after the next. And things are about to get a lot worse for Fortune and a few of her closest friends. 


Excerpt 

Dragging tail wasn’t an option.
As soon as I spotted the floater, I tossed aside my binoculars, wiggled my toes into a double layer of warm fuzzy socks—compliments of my good friend Ally—and hurriedly grabbed a tacky pair of wading boots, recently purchased from Walter at the local general store.
After a minute’s worth of hobbles, boots were in place and I was raring to go. First stop, my kitchen table. Scooping up the barely-charged cell phone, I punched Gertie’s contact number and waited. Under normal circumstances, Ida Belle would’ve been the logical first call, but it wasn’t quite six yet. She probably hadn’t unrolled her hair curlers, much less made it out of bed.
“What and where?” Gertie asked. A simple “hello” wasn’t dramatic enough.
Fueling her enthusiasm for mysterious happenings, I said, “My house. Down by the bayou. Emergency meeting. Call it.”
Until the others arrived, I needed to figure out how to secure a body. It wouldn’t be an easy feat thanks to fast-moving rapids. After recent storms, the bayou swirled with the muddiest swamp waters I’d ever seen, not that I was a professional slough-watcher, but I paid close attention to my backyard.
Thanks to a recent dead body discovered there, my place was somewhat of a landmark. Jeanine from Sinful Sightings even pointed it out on her haunted ghost tours, which was disconcerting when I stopped to think about it. With a body count now standing at two and only a couple of months in residency, I was beginning to think that the Louisiana Bayou wasn’t exactly the safest place to lay low and hide.
I entered the back shed, steps away from the slight incline leading to the bayou. Second stop—a supply-gathering mission. 
Thanks to the former homeowner Marge Boudreaux, I’d soon have my hands wrapped around a few body-fishing supplies. Marge and I were kindred spirits, but we never officially met.
Prior to my arrival in Sinful, Marge went on to a better place. Since the Baptist women often said as much, I assumed they meant heaven. Then again, any place beyond Sinful’s city lines might have been considered a ‘better’ place.
At present, I was in Sinful hiding from those who wanted my head on a spike. In order to avoid a painful end, I assumed the identity of Marge’s niece, Sandy-Sue Morrow.
As I rummaged through Marge’s dilapidated shed, I thought of how she might handle towing a body from the bayou. The outbuilding housed an assortment of items that a former CIA assassin could use on the job. Not that I was in the mood to kill, but it was always helpful to have access to the necessary tools of the trade. Goals and situations could change on a dime out here in bayou towns.
As luck would have it, I was about to accept the role of a fisherwoman. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be casting nets in an effort to catch lobster or crab. Tucking rope under my arm and holding fast to garden supplies, I gave Marge two-thumbs up and hurried to the swamp.
From where I stood, the mission was already set in stone, or rather leaning against a cypress. The poor guy had seen better days. Gunk, also known as bog moss, covered his face. A five o’clock shadow and cold, set eyes were barely visible. I couldn’t tell much about his external characteristics. Locals might be able to identify him if I could save him before he became gator bait. 
Shuddering at the thought, I secured the coiled rope against my shoulder and fastened a good grip around the shovel handle. It was the same shovel that I often used to carry wandering frogs back to the bayou. My stomach lurched at the thought of employing the same frog-toting tool to fetch a man. In these parts, women often used extreme measures to reel in a fellow, or so I’d been told. Maybe the old saying derived from situations such as these.
Pushing aside local folklore, I focused on the deceased. With limited resources and a fear of alligators, I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down to save a dead guy. If only Ida Belle were here. I could hand off the rope and see if she had any experience lassoing a corpse.
Walter came to mind. If he stood as living proof, Ida Belle possessed ability but lacked practice.
In any case, until my elderly companions showed up to lend a helping hand, digging was the best course of action, assuming this fellow’s feet were planted in shallow waters. Fortunately, I had a close relationship with this shovel which basically meant I knew how to use it.
Curving my fingers around the wide handle, I cast the triangular end into the water and scooped up the fellow’s heel. Unable to budge it, I opted to go deep and aim for the arch. Maybe I could lift his foot then hook a knee and drag the body to shore. After fruitless attempts, I stepped back and studied the subject.
A crane might do the trick.
If Gertie and company didn’t arrive shortly, I could always phone a friend with connections. Since I didn’t have a lot of those, I’d probably buzz Walter. He knew people and could probably locate a hoist, but he was also Deputy Carter LeBlanc’s uncle. An alerted Walter meant Carter would know about the incident before I had a chance to drag the man ashore and search for some identification. 
Glancing back at the house that had become my Louisiana home, I debated on whether or not my Jeep—Marge’s jalopy—would prove useful in this situation. It was four-wheel drive. Muddy wheels slipping and sliding wouldn’t present a problem.
Then again, I was a DC girl. What did I know about mudding in the bayou? The cowgirl’s rope came to mind once more. What were my options? What was I supposed to do first? Tie off at the dead guy’s neck? If the wrong person saw what I was doing, they might jump to conclusions.
The last thing I needed was to look like an accessory after the fact, if a crime had been committed. Based on an early assessment and my record for stumbling upon bodies, foul play was a given.
Catching movement in my periphery, I slung the shovel over my shoulder and prepared to assault any alligator that dared an approach. On a positive note, the victim didn’t seem too concerned about undesirable critters. On a negative one, I didn’t want to deal with said critters. I rather liked the idea of keeping all limbs attached.
Returning focus to the man in the mud, I made an assessment: Five foot eleven. Maybe a tad taller—or shorter—hard to tell in potty-like waters. Five o’clock shadow—or was that… “Ugh.” I couldn’t think about it. Ice-blue eyes, much like a killer’s. I’d met a few in my time. Well over two hundred pounds. Threat level zero, unless his ghost loitered nearby and then we might have a problem.
He wore a noticeable frown which was to be expected. Dead guys generally didn’t have anything to smile about.
Given his present circumstances, I’d frown too if I had someone like yours truly trying to save my corpse for the coroner. I hadn’t exactly taken care of this poor guy’s body. My goal was to fish it out of the swamp before a gator came along and left behind bits of flesh and slivers of muscle.  
So far, things weren’t going as well as planned.
“Fortune! Where are you?” Gertie’s voice rang out like a trumpet.
As weird as it seemed, given my professional training, I heaved a sigh of relief. The Calvary had arrived. 



Riley Blake writes mysteries, thrillers, and suspense. In addition to writing her own novels slated for release in 2017, Riley enjoys writing for Amazon's Kindle Worlds. When Riley isn't writing, she enjoys cooking, going to garage sales, and redecorating her home with thrifty items. An animal lover, the author has a potbelly pig, a few dogs, a couple of horses, and a chicken named Lord Wings.





Also written by Riley Blake for Jana Deleon's Miss Fortune Series at Amazon Kindle Worlds


Bayou Babes
Hiding in the Bayou
Christmas in the Bayou
Bayou Valentine
The Stiletto Scandal

Available now at Amazon 






Friday, February 17, 2017

Release Blitz for Spirits of the Heart by Claire Gem






A New Haunted Voices novel 

Spirits of the Heart - A Haunted Voices Novel

An addiction counselor and a security guard struggle to free a little girl and her father, two lost spirits trapped inside an abandoned mental asylum.

Addiction counselor Laura Horton returns from college to move in with an old friend and start her career. But her homecoming is jarring. Her friend moves out, leaving Laura alone with the gorgeous but intimidating ex-boyfriend—in a house that snugs up to an ancient graveyard.

Officer Miller Stanford is a man with a shattered past. His alcoholic dad destroyed their family, a weakness Miller is terrified will consume him too. The last thing he needs is a sexy, blonde addiction counselor watching his every move. When he begins to see specters in the dark, he starts questioning his own stability.

But Laura sees her too—a pathetic child-spirit searching for her father. Then Laura starts digging into old asylum records . . . Can Miller and Laura uncover the secrets of Talcott Hall without jeopardizing their love—and lives—in the process?


Excerpt:

Laura Horton’s bad feeling began the minute she pulled up in front of Angie’s puke green, two-story house and parked at the curb.
Not Angie’s house, she reminded herself. Angie’s boyfriend’s house. Although they’d been pretty tight in high school, she and Ang had kept in touch mostly via telephone and email these past few years that Laura had been in grad school. Once, a few years ago, they’d gotten together for their five-year reunion, when Laura had come home to visit her ailing dad.
That was the first time she’d seen the compact craftsman bungalow—after dark—and she hadn’t realized it was such an ugly color. She hadn’t met the boyfriend, Miller Stanford, whom Angie either claimed to love with all her heart, or wanted to eviscerate with a Phillips head screwdriver, depending on the day. Nor had Laura noticed then that the house snugged up tight on one side to an ancient-looking graveyard. The only thing separating the two properties was a narrow strip of grass and a dilapidated, iron fence.
A shiver ran across her shoulder blades as she sat in her car, studying her new surroundings. Her new home.
Holy crap.
Chillier up here. Where’d I pack that hoodie?
She turned to dig around in one of the boxes squashed into the back of her tiny car, quickly realizing it was pointless. Nearly everything she owned in the world—besides a few pieces of battered, old furniture—filled the back seat, and passenger side, of her thrifty Kia. When she’d run out of room for boxes, she’d resorted to folding softer items, like her sweaters and sweats, into new plastic trash bags. Stuff crammed every nook and crevice in the car, leaving just enough space beneath the headliner for her to see out through the rearview mirror.
There was no way in hell she was locating her hoodie in Mt. Clothesmore.
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she climbed out and sprinted up the steps to the front door. She hadn’t been able to reach Angie by phone since she’d left Boone, North Carolina the day before, but that wasn’t too unusual. Her friend was a bit flighty, and prone to misplace her phone, her charger, or both. Angie had been juggling courses at the community college with a full-time night job, tending bar at the pub just down the street, for the past two years. Laura couldn’t blame her for acting a bit squirrelly at times.
She reminded herself how nice it was of Ang and Miller to rent her their spare room. When Laura landed the job in Middletown, her initial exhilaration had been tempered by a glaring question: where the hell was she going to live? There was no way she could move into her father’s tiny condo with his new wife, Deirdre. And securing an apartment on her own was out of the question, at least not until after her first few paychecks hit the bank.
Laura squared her shoulders, which were quaking slightly in the cool spring breeze, tipped up her chin, and rang the doorbell.
Twice. She shifted her sneakered feet against the creaky porch boards, folding her arms against the chill. After another long moment with no answer, she rang the bell a third time, holding down the ancient button a full ten seconds this time. She could hear the electronic buzz through the peeling front door, but no other sounds at all.
Angie had to be here—she knew Laura was coming. It was Friday, but Angie’s last term of college ended last week, and it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. There was only one vehicle parked in the short driveway, a late-model Ford pickup. But Laura wasn’t sure what it was Angie was driving these days.
Then, she heard the booming, thumping sound. Footsteps? Deliberate, heavy, booming steps. Did Bigfoot live here too?
A dull click, then the tinkle of chain skittering on the inside of the wood. The door burst open. But it wasn’t Angie standing on the threshold.
Laura didn’t have time to suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped from her open mouth.
The man was huge, not only tall but massive, with a broad, muscular chest, one lightly furred with golden hair.  His bulbous biceps were cut, sculpted like a Greek statue. And he wasn’t wearing much more than Michelango’s David, with only a steel grey towel snugged around narrow hips to match the steely glint in his blue-grey eyes.
She blinked and swallowed, stumbling back a step. “Is Angie here?” she asked in a small voice.
The giant snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Who’s askin’?”


Author Bio: Claire Gem



Strong Women, Starting Over
   ~Redefining Romance~

Claire is a multi-published, award winning author of emotional romance—contemporary, paranormal, romantic suspense, and women’s fiction. She writes about strong, resilient women who won’t give up their quest for a happy-ever-after—and the men lucky enough to earn their love. No helpless, hapless heroines here. These spunky ladies redefine romance, on their terms.

Whether it’s a sexy contemporary read you’re seeking, or a thrill ride into the supernatural world of hauntings and ghosts, Claire will take you on a memorable journey.

Her paranormal/romantic suspense, Hearts Unloched, won the 2016 New York Book Festival. Her contemporary romance, The Phoenix Syndrome, won the women’s fiction division in FCRWA’s The Beacon Contest.

A New York native, Claire has lived in five of the United States and held a variety of jobs, from waitress to bridal designer to research technician—but loves being an author best. She and her happily-ever-after hero, her husband of 38 years, now live in central Massachusetts.


Media Links:




Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Friday, February 3, 2017

Release Blitz for Riley Blake's Bayou Valentine (The Miss Fortune Series at Kindle Worlds)





In the middle of the Louisiana Bayou, a hot date turns into a catastrophic nightmare when CIA agent-in-hiding Fortune Redding runs out of blind luck and comes face to face with a killer who has a million reasons to end her life. 


Bayou Valentine Clip



“So you are going out on the town tonight!” Gertie sang out her delight. “Where’s he taking you?”
 Seemed to be the universal question. “Maybe Mudbug.”
“Mudbug?” Gertie grunted. “What does Mudbug have that we don’t?”
“A good steakhouse for starters,” Ally said. “Just opened on the edge of town.”
“That’s in Wasteland. No way will I eat a steak in a place called Wasteland.”
“Don’t ruin it for her, Gertie,” said Ally.
“Place has one traffic light and it blinks on green all the time. The mayor recently put up one of those population signs, right next to the “Wasteland Steakhouse—Name alone will make your stomach growl” billboard. Who does that? And who throws good money away on a sign that recognizes fifteen people?”
“I would if all fifteen were family members,” Ally said.
“Maybe,” Gertie said. “Bet the mayor’s relatives work at the steakhouse.”
“Probably,” Ally agreed. “The restaurant is located right down from Mayor Hollowman’s farm.”
“Carter should’ve known better. I’ll call him with some suggestions. He should take Fortune to a classier joint and—”
“Don’t you dare!” I blurted out. “The farm-to-table restaurant was my idea.”
Ally shot me a suspicious look. “We have to go, Gertie. Carter will be here soon. Talk to you later. Bye.” Ally disconnected the call and narrowed her eyes. “Okay spill.”
I hesitated. Ally wouldn’t approve of my reasons behind the Wasteland Steakhouse suggestion.
“Fortune?”
“Okay, fine. I didn’t want anyone to see us on our first official date. Until I know what I’m feeling for Carter, I don’t need the locals weighing in with their opinions about ‘us’ or if there is an ‘us’ or if there is an ‘us’ what ‘we’ feel for each other. It’s too complicated when tongues start wagging. I’m not a he-said-she-said person.”
“I get it,” she said, surprising me. “But don’t fool yourself into believing that Carter doesn’t get it, too. He probably would’ve taken you to Wasteland whether you’d asked or not.”
Carter and Ally were old friends so I’d take her word for it. Then a sinking sensation made me uneasy. “Think he doesn’t want to be seen with me?”
“I don’t think that’s it at all. In fact, I bet Carter would be proud to take you just about anywhere.” Ally flicked her fingers and knocked my cap sideways. “But the least you can do is put on a dress. It’s Valentine’s night. And Cupid expects you to look presentable.”

 Available now at Kindle Worlds 

Welcome to Destiny Blaine's Online Journal

Welcome to Destiny Blaine's Online Journal
"An Award Winning Bestselling International E-book and Paperback Author, Destiny Blaine and her pseudonyms top the charts at Amazon, Bookstrand, Barnes and Noble, ARE, Mobipocket, and other retailers online and off. Scroll down for a list of available titles, works in progress, and coming soon dates for debut titles.”

Author Bio

An award-winning, international bestselling erotic romance author, Destiny Blaine writes under several pen names. She lives in East Tennessee and spends a lot of time in Connecticut and Virginia, where her granddoll resides.